


Love is a Weakness

by narcissablaxk



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture, Trigger warning for death and possible suicide mention, lots of gore and blood, nygmobblepot week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Oswald hears that Ed has been taken by Tabitha and Butch, and rushes to get to him in time. For Nygmobblepot Week, day three: Hurt/Comfort.





	Love is a Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring a lot of hurt and very little comfort, I'm afraid.

Oswald, for the first time in months, it seemed, settled deeper into his chair. Even after leaving his post as mayor, his schedule was usually packed to bursting, and the incessant errands, fires to put out, criminals to keep in line, and mortal enemies to keep an ear out for exhausted him like the mayoral campaign and success did not. Still, there were a few moments like this, where he could exist in his office quietly, while the world turned around him without him forcing it to. 

It was nice – but it was doomed from the start. 

“Pengy!” Ivy’s voice, cloying and shrill, shattered his silence. She stumbled through the door, her heels just tall enough to make her teeter like a weak skyscraper. “Pengy, you have to come, quick.” 

“Ivy, what have we talked about?” Oswald sighed. 

She paused in the doorway, wringing her hands. “Don’t disturb you –”

“Don’t disturb me while I’m working, yes,” Oswald finished. “And yet, here you are.” 

“But –”

“I don’t have a lot of moments to myself, Ivy, so I like to cherish them,” Oswald continued, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “I happen to enjoy the silence.” 

“But –”

“I _said,_ I enjoy silence, Ivy, what part of that did you not get?” Oswald snapped. “Now, unless this is a real emergency, you can scoot,” he waved his hand at her dismissively, knowing that the condescension would chase her out even if she wanted to defy the order. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Ivy insisted. “It is an emergency!” 

_Another one?_ Oswald groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Alright, fine, which of your plants is out of control now? I’ll send Gabe down there with some weed killer –”

“I was with Selina, and I overheard Tabitha talking about how they finally got Ed,” Ivy blurted quickly. “I – I – I mean, I know you’re not friends, but I know that –”

“Shhh, Ivy, it’s fine,” Oswald waved off her blathering, rising from his seat. “What else did you hear?” 

Ivy hesitated, her large eyes darting around the room as she tried to recall the conversation. “Tabby said Butch got him, but he was going to – I think she said – save a piece for her?” 

Oswald felt his whole body go cold. “We have to go. Ivy, grab Victor –”

“Which one?” 

“Both of them!” he shouted. “I’ll get Gabe to bring the car around.”

***

Of all the ways Edward pictured his death, at the hands of Tabitha Galavan hadn’t been one. He supposed, in that absent way of his, that he should have considered her, especially after he cut her hand off. She was lethal, that much was certain. It was the one thing about her he admired. The rest was…leather and sex appeal that didn’t much move him. 

_You can save yourself,_ the Riddler was yanking at him, trying to take over, but wasn’t this just so much easier, lying here, waiting for it all to end? Edward ignored him, feeling the distant pressure of the ropes that held his wrists high above his head tighten as he slumped more against them. 

_I was meant to make you a man, to make you stronger. Let me make you stronger._

Perhaps the strong thing to do would be to just die, Edward said. The pain was quickly turning to agony, but at least here, in his head, all he felt was cold. Perhaps he was losing blood. 

_What about Oswald?_

What _about_ Oswald, he asked himself. 

“Come on, Ed, we’re not going to make it that easy,” Tabitha’s voice was honey sweet to hide the venom, but her hand across his face stung, enough that he spluttered, opening his eyes. Everything was slightly blurry, something splattered across his glasses. He squinted, and saw red over Tabitha’s face. So it was blood, then. 

The blow to his stomach felt startlingly real, and his breath escaped through his mouth, just far enough out of his reach that he couldn’t get it back. 

Panic gripped him the longer he gasped, the longer his lungs wanted for air. 

He was going to die. 

The first shaky breath cleared his vision, but the second wasn’t enough. He glanced down at his shirt, formerly white, now red. When had he lost so much blood? The more he thought about it, the more his mind allowed pain back in, and the more certain he was that his death was not only imminent, but inevitable. 

There was no one to save him; Lee was back in the Narrows, far away and unreachable. Butch was watching Tabitha choose her next weapon with a knowing gaze that told Ed that Grundy was gone for good. He didn’t have any friends, no conspirators, no one to save him. 

“Oh good, you’re awake again,” Tabitha looked supremely pleased with herself. “I thought for a while we jumped the gun, didn’t I, Butch?” 

“You did, babe,” he said proudly. 

“Now, here’s the rub, Riddle boy,” Tabitha said, whispering like she was telling him a secret. “You’ve lost so much blood that if I do what I really want to do, you’re going to die. I could let you live, I suppose, but that would mean that my hand goes unavenged.”

Of course, the hand. Edward wanted to sigh, but every inhale sent a sharp spike of pain through his abdomen. Instead, he coughed blood again, splattering more across Tabitha’s face. She didn’t flinch; perhaps he had been doing this for a while. 

How long until he drowned in his own blood? 

“But,” Tabitha was still talking. “If you do die, that would be a nice little stab at Penguin too, wouldn’t it?” she asked with a giggle. 

Was she mad? She certainly seemed it. 

“Wh – why –”

“What was that, Riddle boy?” she asked. “Why? Why would I kill you, or why would it hurt Penguin?” 

He didn’t answer, but it seemed like she didn’t need one. 

“I guess the rumors are true,” she mused. “You really aren’t smart anymore. You see, you obnoxious little know-it-all, Penguin froze you and kept you in the club, sure, but tell me why he stabbed a man in the neck for laughing at you if he hated you so much?” 

_Because he doesn’t hate you,_ the Riddler whispered. 

Now is not the time to think about things like that. Those things were futile when he was staring at the face of death. He gagged on his blood, unable to form words that even resembled a sentence, and Tabitha watched him struggle with barely contained glee. 

“Penguin will be broken without you,” she whispered. “I think that makes up for not avenging my hand, don’t you think, Butch?” 

“I sure do, baby.” 

_Try thinking for yourself for once, you big, blundering idiot!_

The silence that followed was marred only by a click, one that triggered a memory in Edward’s mind. He couldn’t place what it was, but the pain subsided enough for him to breathe for just a moment before the wall behind Tabitha and Butch collapsed and he caught sight of a familiar car. 

_Oswald._

Victor Zsasz was right behind him, two pistols in his hand, Victor Fries suited up just behind him. Firefly was in the back, taking aim at Tabitha, and Oswald had already taken out his favorite shotgun for Butch. 

It was so surreal, watching this brawl for his life, and Edward felt his head swim the longer he watched. Butch and Tabitha were outnumbered, but no one outnumbered time. He could hear now, louder than any gunshot, the sound of his blood hitting the floor. There was…there was so much. 

_You have to hold on, Ed,_ the Riddler was saying, his voice softer than ever. _You can’t let go yet._

***

By the time Oswald managed to get to Ed, he was convinced he was too late. 

“Cut him down,” he shouted to Ivy, who stood on a chair to oblige the request. Victor and Gabe caught Ed’s body, feet sliding in the blood. His eyes were closed, and Oswald could barely look at him. He was too late; Ed was gone. Victor knelt down to search for a pulse, to make sure.

“He’s still breathing,” Victor said quietly, “But only just.” 

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered, and someone moved away from the group to do his bidding. The next few minutes crept by in silence, everyone afraid to speak, afraid to move. Oswald stayed close to Ed, close enough that he could hear his shallow breaths, could watch the blood leak from his mouth. 

“You can’t die, you idiot,” he said finally, when the silence had gone on too long. “You can’t. I forbid it.” 

“Butch and Tabitha escaped,” Firefly relayed, bringing the smell of acrid flesh with her. 

“I don’t care,” he said truthfully. “Where’s the damn ambulance?” 

The sirens in the distance brought tears to his eyes. 

“You can’t die,” he repeated. “Or I’m going to kill you myself.” 

***

Hell was surprisingly cushy, Ed noted. There was no heaven, not for a man like himself, but that didn’t explain the soft bed, the soft pillows, the soft warmth of this place. Perhaps hell, like heaven was a myth. Perhaps he was just in his coffin. 

Somehow, that was okay too. 

The beeps were the first clue that he might not be dead. He recognized those sounds; those were hospital sounds. 

Wrenching his eyes open was more difficult that he thought it would be. But when he finally managed it, he could see clearly that this was not hell, or his coffin. It was a room in Gotham General. The soft glow of the monitors told him it was nighttime, and the muted sound from outside the door told him that Lee was here, and so was Ivy. 

But if Ivy was here, then – 

“You’re awake,” Oswald’s voice was hoarse, but still delicate, and Ed had to shift very slowly to see Oswald, in the seat beside his bed, watching him closely. “I – I’m so glad.” 

“You – you saved me,” Ed pointed out, his voice just as broken. 

“Of course I did,” Oswald shrugged. 

“Why?” 

“A thank you would suffice,” Oswald sniffed. 

“You wanted me dead,” Ed said, tugging at the tubes around his arms as he tried to turn to see Oswald in better light. “You _froze_ me –”

“You tried to kill me –”

“You killed Isabella –”

“But I never tried to kill you,” he retorted. “Not even after you tried to kill me, several times. And in your – slightly dulled – brilliant brain, you know why.” 

The Riddler was standing in the corner, watching the proceedings with raised eyebrows. Ed shut his eyes, counting to ten before he opened them again. But he was still there, standing at Oswald’s shoulder. 

“Love is a _weakness –”_

Oswald let out a mirthless laugh. “Right, well, that weakness is what saved your life today.” He stood up, struggling slightly with his bad leg, and straightened his jacket. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.” 

_Stop him,_ the Riddler demanded, exasperated. 

“Wait,” Ed blurted, the force of it sending a wave of pain through him. “Tabitha said that you stabbed someone in the neck –”

“Despite your resolved hatred of me, Edward, I still don’t allow anyone to disparage the people I care about in my presence,” Oswald said bitterly. 

“I don’t hate you,” he and the Riddler spoke at the same time. 

Oswald didn’t speak, but paused in his exit. 

“Thank you for saving me,” Ed said, getting the words out with difficulty. “I – I have been having troubles with…him…lately, and I fear it has been clouding my judgment.” 

“Ed –”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” he asked. 

Oswald hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Of course I will, old friend.”

The familiar term brought a smile to Ed’s face. “I continue to be in awe of you, Oswald,” he said in return.


End file.
